Grist for the Mill
by Hahren Jezek
Summary: "Was it you who told me once-now looking back, it seems surreal!-That all our mistakes are merely grist for the mill? Now I wear the brand of 'Traitor,' don't it seem a bit absurd, when I was so obviously framed?" - Anders reflects on the events that led him to the Grand Revolution. Inspired by Ray Lamontagne's song 'Lesson Learned.' Anders x F!Hawke.


**A/N – This was inspired by Ray Lamontagne's song Lesson Learned, and some of the phrases in here come directly from that. I listened to it after thinking of the relationship between Hawke and Anders, and this scene came to me. I'm considering expanding on it by going back and writing from Ander's PoV from Ferelden to the moment depicted here. If continued, the fic will center around Anders losing himself over time, and of his unhealthy relationship with Hawke rather than acting as another novelized version of the game itself. Anyway, enjoy reading. I'd encourage you all to listen to the song as you read, or perhaps afterwards.**

Ash rained from the sky, but even through the smoke and debris, I could feel her eyes on me, staring, boring into my flesh, but still not understanding. I imagined her lips trembling as her head shook, denying what was right in front of her. She'd become very good at denial over the years. I didn't turn to look at her. I stared ahead and watched each piece of ash flit down from the sky, like butterflies ripped from the stars, sent down in a blaze to the earth—nothing but a memory of beauty when they arrived.

Kirkwall was in a chaos like it had never known, and in the distance, I could hear shrieks of anger, pain, and grief. The rumble of buildings collapsing, of stone grinding against stone.

I hoped the entire city and all of its corruption and chains tumbled to the ground.

"If you do not kill him, Hawke, I swear that I will return with an army beyond reckoning, and I will hunt the two of you unto the end of all things!" Sebastian roared. The sting of his wrath was lost to me, I'd lost the ability to feel such things long ago. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on top of my knees and folding my hands between them. Whatever happened next, the die had already been cast; none could avoid what would happen next. The Templars would tremble beneath Our might, and mages all across Thedas would rise up and seize their freedom! Fools like Orsino would fall by the wayside, and those like him would follow.

I tried to focus on the future. I tried to keep thinking of the flames of war, if only to feel the beating of life drumming in my neck. We would be free. Never again would a mage be forced to submit to the laws of the chantry, never again would—her hand touched my shoulder, just once, very hesitantly, as though I might strike her.

"Anders… Anders, My Love, what have you done?" She whispered. Her voice was breaking, and it seemed that she, a woman that had saved her family from The Blight, braved the deeproads, slaughtered slavers in droves, single-handedly defeated the Arishok in combat, and wrestled dragons to the ground out of the sky; a woman that held the strength of a legion inside of her, barely had the will left inside of her to put a breath behind her words.

An ache filled me, a deep, resounding pain that echoed inside of my bones and into the cavern that once held my heart.

I smashed it down.

I did what needed to be done. I did it for Neria, I did it for Jowan, for Connor—I did it for every mage in Thedas that had been abused, beaten down, ripped from their families, killed, and made Tranquil.

The flames of war burned inside my veins again, and that familiar thrumming of rage pulsed in my neck again. It seemed that it was the only time I could ever feel my pulse. It was Just. It was Justice—Vengeance!

I closed my eyes when she knelt in front of me, taking my hands in her own and trying to open them so that she could bury her face into my palms and let me feel all of her grief, as though I didn't know it well. All her talk of a simple life for the two of us had faded years ago, but she clung to it desperately, trying to draw my attention from The Underground with talk of where to move, if I might prefer farming, ranching, or trading. I brushed her off. I didn't give her that false hope, but still she pretended. And now she cried, her tears scalding my wrists as she kissed my hands. Her lips touched each finger, knuckle, and hard-earned callus desperately, as though her love for me could wash away the blood soaking my hands.

"Kill him, Hawke! Cut him down!" Sebastian wailed desperately from somewhere behind me, his voice growing louder. His grief was almost as palpable as Alisia's, but rather than an oppressive weight bearing down on me from all angles, I felt nothing for him but a grim satisfaction.

"Hawke!"

"Step back, Sebastian! He will be given a proper court of law," Aveline growled out. Even she seemed uncertain in such a dire circumstance, but I had to give her credit. If there was equality anywhere in Thedas, it was in Aveline's eyes. Every man and woman was treated the same, and given the same treatment. I doubted that she held Sebastian at bay for me. It was Alisia that she bothered for. The woman still sobbing into my hands, seeking comfort that I couldn't give to her.

I told her. I had warned her! The fault wasn't mine.

She must have seen it, I did not try hiding it from her. She did not report me, she did not hand me over, but still she sits there, her hands clawing at my arms and throat, acting so surprised by what she already knew. Her tears felt so hot upon my skin.

They seared my skin and left a scar that would never fade.

"Anders, Anders why did you—" her voice broke again. Her breath puffed against my flesh as she crawled forward between my legs and into my arms, heaving sobs into my chest. I warned her. I told her over and over that she would never lead an idyllic life so long as I was in it. I told her that I put mages first; that my duty was first to all of Thedas and second to her. She walked beside me and gathered the materials I had needed to complete this grand venture, choosing to believe that it was some feeble lie I had weaved, if only for her benefit. A separation from Justice—she spoke of it so fondly after three years, as though she thought all of the problems in our life was because of him.

"For every mage in Thedas," I murmured into her hair, my voice hardened and firm—the only solid thing left in her world.

"Me, Anders! Why could it not have been me?" Alisia sobbed, her hands curling into fists as they beat against my breast, perhaps trying to shake lose the fragment of a heart that was left in my chest cavity so that she could claim it for herself—the one piece that I had promised to give her.

Another promise that I had broken.

"All these years I've stood by you, I've waited for you, I've bloodied my hands for you, and I said nothing! I've loved you unconditionally, I've forgiven you each day for the wrongs you've done, to me and to others," Alisia was nearly screaming now, but she hadn't moved from her place, nestled up close against me. She held me close and hard—but I was like a statue at most, refusing to acknowledge that she'd been hurt.

"I wanted you to love me," she whispered, and her nails dug into my neck as she clung to me.

"I have," I breathed. That stirring welled up inside of me again at her pain, and my hands ached to hold her, to clutch her as desperately as she held to me, but I forced them to stay still. I wanted to be what she wished me to be—but perhaps this was what she needed. She could have stopped me. She chose not to. She chose this.

"No, no no no," she stuttered. Her lips quivered against the untrimmed scruff beneath my chin, and my eyes finally opened, staring up into the bloodied skies of a city in flames, "You loved your magic, you loved their magic, and you loved your vengeance, but you didn't love me," she sobbed.

All she had to do was ask me. I would have told her straight away.

"I loved you," she cried, "I loved you with all of my heart, with all of my strength! Why couldn't you just love me? Why wasn't I enough for you?" Her fists beat against my chest again, but I remained still, hiding the sting that her words left, and the scars her tears had formed.

My jaw clenched, and I felt a wetness welling up in my eyes as I kept them strained on dark clouds. Each puff morphed into her face, every breeze shifted them to show her eyes, watching me as I rose from our bed each night and left her there, alone in a world she barely knew. I had betrayed her. It seemed so absurd. It was for every mage. It was Just, and it was Right.

"Why wasn't I enough?" she begged, alternating between crying against my neck and kissing it, loving me still, after all I had done, after all of the pain that I had put her through to get to where we were today—standing in the middle of the first of many fires.

"Why wasn't I enough?" Alisia said, broken.

She was another sacrifice for freedom, another beating heart given up for justice.

She was merely grist for the mill.

So why was it now, after all that I had done, after all that I had given up for this glorious moment, for this grand revolution, that I felt empty and devoid? I envied her sorrow, the depth of her love and heart. The emptiness permeated throughout my flesh, making my fingertips cold to the touch, and for the first time, I looked down at her, my chin brushing through the soft locks of her unkempt hair. I looked at her reddened eyes, at the tear tracks staining her cheeks, and the beat of life at the side of her neck. I looked at her beauty and her pain—pain that she suffered willingly of love for me, and I wondered.

Why wasn't she enough?


End file.
